


Of Strangers Met in a Strange Land

by LuvEwan



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Gen, M/M, Qui-Gon Doesn't Like to Wear Clothes, Qui-Gon Lives, Resentment, Slow Burn, Two estranged Jedi in a tiny cabin, awkward moments, obi-wan doesn't sleep
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21727705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuvEwan/pseuds/LuvEwan
Summary: Knight Kenobi is assigned to retrieve Master Jinn from an overlong sabbatical. But he has not seen Qui-Gon in years.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 21
Kudos: 136





	1. Chapter 1

———

Then let us turn now — you to me  
And I to you — and hand to hand  
Clasp, even though our fable be  
Of strangers met in a strange land  
Who pause, perturbed, then speak and know  
That speech, half lost, can yet amaze  
Joy at the root; then suddenly grow  
Silent, and on each other gaze. -Robert Penn Warren

———-

Obi-Wan Kenobi was quite tired of mud. In his career as a Jedi he had encountered a diverse galaxy of planets, cultures, and life forms, and the one unifying trait between them all was wet dirt. He wagered he had spent a significant portion of his life cleaning his boots. With all that extra time, surely he could have achieved personal enlightenment, or mastered the highest level of kata, or—

Figured out how to dodge miserable missions, perhaps.

He had landed on Bikko as evening fell, at the end of a heavy rain. Now, a few hours into his trek, the air was moist and still. Glow bugs vibrated and burned against the darkness, to imitate the stars above them, little pure and molten things that even Obi-Wan could feel hum with the Living Force. He stopped to drink from his canteen, glimpsing the mild blue moon through a canopy of branches and leaves. 

In the natural solitude, Obi-Wan could admit that this assignment made him uneasy. He was a Jedi Knight, unencumbered by personal devotion, seasoned in his role, especially after the last few years. The Universe was shifting. New and unexpected threats battered the Republic and strained the resources of the Jedi Order. Obi-Wan scarcely spent more than a day on Coruscant before being dispatched on another mission. 

So it wasn’t unusual, Obi-Wan reasoned, that he had not seen Qui-Gon Jinn since his Knighthood. Over the years a few passing nods were exchanged, eyes briefly meeting on a crossed path, but their relationship never evolved the way Obi-Wan always assumed it would. As a Padawan, he had dreamed of the day the legendary Master would regard him as an equal—a friend. Instead he knew only secondhand stories of Qui-Gon and his tutelage of Anakin Skywalker. He could accept that he didn’t fit into his former mentor’s full life anymore. 

The problem was that no one had heard from Qui-Gon Jinn in weeks. 

The man was supposed to be on Bikko for a personal retreat. Leave it to Qui-Gon Jinn to choose a mountaintop site, accessible after a long sojourn through thick forest, to spend his sabbatical. 

_And leave it to the Council to assign me to disrupt him._

He didn’t sense distress…he didn’t sense Qui-Gon at all. And certainly the Master could manage if he was in danger. It was also possible he was no longer on Bikko, and simply neglected to inform the Council. But Obi-Wan would not shirk his duty, regardless if that duty was needed, regardless if it hurt his heart. He would get proof of Qui-Gon’s welfare, report to Master Yoda and await his next assignment. 

There was always more work to be done. 

Fog drifted across the black sky. His mind seeped with old worries and sentiments, memories resurfacing like debris floating in muddied water after a storm. _I should have refused the Council’s edict. Qui-Gon would have, if the situation was reversed._ Immediately he chastised himself for the bitter rumination and tromped back onto the trail. _He owes me nothing. He trained me. Saved my life. What more can I demand of him?_

Obi-Wan had no answer, nor was one offered amid the nocturnal buzzing and rustling of the forest. He was frustrated that his thoughts circled again and again to Qui-Gon’s willful distance. Jedi forged countless friendships, at the Temple, on missions, only to inevitably be called away by obligation. How many figures had revolved in and out of Obi-Wan’s life? To cleave to any individual was against the Code. And foolish. 

_A true servant of the Force rejects attachment._

Perhaps this was the lesson Yoda sought to teach Obi-Wan by sending him to Bikko over Anakin. The remarkable boy from the desert must be a senior Padawan by now, more than capable of finding his own Master on a peaceful planet. Of course, it was not Obi-Wan’s place to question the Council’s decisions. His mission briefing was vague, listing nothing of the details behind Qui-Gon’s respite, or clues to his current mental state. 

The idea of reasoning with Qui-Gon Jinn in any state, confronting or, stars forbid, subduing him, sent cold dread through Obi-Wan’s body. In his time as a Knight, he had persuaded tyrants, thwarted assassins and rushed headlong into battle. He knew he could handle Qui-Gon, if the situation demanded it. 

He just hoped it wouldn’t be necessary. 

Obi-Wan gathered the Force around him, allowing its pure energy to clear his mind and dispel his exhaustion. The night was far from over. 

———————————

It had been years since Qui-Gon Jinn last heard the lorngale’s call, distinct in its sweet, melancholic softness, a delicate chiming and stirring of memory. It had been years, too, since he had thought of the birds.

He did not want to remember. 

Yet the song grew closer, a faint breath in his ear, the Force alight with its notes. He recalled the lorngales and their eyes, an audience and jury and rapture of blue eyes. Another, quieter voice, lifting through the melodic cloud, coming from everywhere, within: _Don’t_. 

He choked on a gasp and his eyes flew open. For a moment he floundered in the darkness, expecting to see the sleek walls of his Temple quarters, instead finding the night sky at a noxious tilt, so close he thought he was still dreaming, winging alongside the lorngales. 

Qui-Gon drew up to his elbows, panting. Clammy sweat clung to his back. The moon lit shapes with quiet incandescence: chair, sink, door. The cabin on Bikko. He oriented himself, suffusing his groggy mind with dry fact. Alone. 

Except, he wasn’t alone. He could feel another presence in the Force. A distant star, radiating familiar, steady light, and heading closer. 

_Damn it_. Qui-Gon threw aside the blankets and sprang up from the bedroll, pointedly ignoring the flurried pace of his heart. He stood in the shadowed room, breathing deeply. Meddlers. And no doubt Yoda, Wise Head of the Meddlers, was behind it. Not content to merely compel Qui-Gon into this period of isolation, now another meddler was being sent in the old Master’s stead. More questions, judgement…from the last person he expected, or wanted, to explain himself.

Obi-Wan. 

A base instinct urged Qui-Gon to flee, avoid the whole embarrassing encounter, to sweep clean the place of even a fingerprint and barrel off world before his ex-Padawan could reach the mountain. _You’ve done the same before,_ the voice whispered, _a thief in the night._

He could not argue that point. Numbly Qui-Gon prepared tea, less deft than usual as he brewed and poured. Droplets fell on the wooden table and he instinctively wiped them away,

_fingers tracing through the warm moisture, his touch trembling and careful, but still more tears bled out, quicker than he could dash them away, streaming down the pallid cheeks, reserves broken, dignity undone._

_Too late. He was too late. No no no no no—-_

He sat his cup down with a severe clatter. Outside it was still black, the thick darkness of undisturbed forest, but he knew dawn was approaching, and Obi-Wan would come with that fresh light, carrying questions from the Council. Or worse, questions of his own. 

Qui-Gon had to be prepared for them all. 

—-

Obi-Wan traveled through the night, occasionally seeking out Qui-Gon’s signature, but never grasping anything beyond the simple imprints of wildlife. Weariness burned behind his temples, nagging him to slow down, to rest. The limits of his own human endurance irritated and challenged him. As a crecheling, he had heard legends of Jedi so attuned to the Force’s energy, their bodies no longer required basic necessities. 

They ate of the Force, drank of the Force, surrendered all weakness and desire to the purity of its energy. He knew he would never achieve such communion, knew too that some legends were merely fairy tales. Still, when he was very tired or worried he could do no better, he thought of those ancestors, their complete accord with the Force. It was not such a terrible goal, though his friends in the Temple would undoubtedly roll their eyes. He had heard more than a few teasing comments concerning his earnestness. 

_You should laugh more_ , Bant had told him when they last spoke, during a rare handful of days he spent on Coruscant. _And stop skipping meals. There’s more to life than duty, you know. Even for Jedi._

Of course, there was beauty to be appreciated, in the sky reflected on the water, in the carefree laughter of children. Obi-Wan _did_ notice and appreciate those things, but he experienced it all through the lens of his servitude to the Order, to the Force itself. He found it only enhanced his appreciation.

_Eat of the Force, drink of the Force, surrender all weakness and desire._

He would not give in to his body, though it asked for sleep and decent food. He would not humor his mind, as it reminded him again and again of an unchangeable past.

He walked through the brush, ascending the mountain at a reasonable clip, meditating with his eyes open and his legs moving. He stopped searching for Qui-Gon Jinn. He let himself _be_ , and time slipped away from him.

He walked, until he knew he didn’t need to walk anymore. He surfaced near the pinnacle, and breathed in the bracing, clean air, felt the peace of truly remote silence. 

And there, at the edge of the cliff, sat a Jedi Master in meditation pose. Eyes closed, palms resting on knees, an aura of tranquility resonating so strongly in the Force to stir even the mountains. 

Qui-Gon Jinn was the mountains, the trees, the endless sky. A Jedi in harmony with the Force could encompass everything. Obi-Wan hesitated to move any closer. Perhaps Master Yoda had been wrong to send him after all. He certainly felt wrong, like an intruder, trespassing onto sacred, private ground. Who was he to drag his former teacher back to the Temple? Who was he to Qui-Gon at all? For much of his life, the man had been his guiding star. But they were both older, and time had unbound those once-deep connections. The Council could have at least dispatched another Master instead, someone closer in station…

Qui-Gon emerged from his trance then, lifting his head towards the sky and inhaling as he opened his eyes. 

Obi-Wan cursed under his breath. If he had hoped to slink away, the opportunity had passed. So instead he smoothed his robe, cleared his throat and stepped out into the sun.

“Master…” he hesitated, “Master Jinn?”

Dawn lit streaks in the long, graying hair. Clear blue eyes met his own, and for the first time in years, he heard his old teacher’s voice. “Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon sounded only mildly surprised, as if they had run into each other in the Temple dining hall, rather than on a deserted mountain top on a distant planet. He rose in one swift, nimble motion and walked towards him. 

Obi-Wan had forgotten how easily Qui-Gon towered over him, dwarfed him in physical and spiritual stature. Even dressed casually in a loose tabard and leggings, feet bare, the older Jedi was a figure of formidable grace. A lighter mane and a few more lines on his face were the only marks of the years gone by. For Obi-Wan, it was if his Knighthood and all the experiences that followed had evaporated, and he was a green Padawan again, eager to make a good impression. “Master.” The younger man bowed, half expecting to feel a learner’s braid swing over his shoulder. “Forgive my intrusion.”

“Obi-Wan.” Any emotion beneath his neutral gaze was imperceptible. He extended a hand towards his former apprentice, but paused, drawing back. “Why are you here?”

Obi-Wan could not suppress the painful twinge in his chest. _Blast. Why didn’t they send anyone, anyone else?_ He swallowed. “The Council asked me to---”

“Ah, I see.” Qui-Gon crossed his arms, the peace of his ablutions dissipating like the early morning’s mist. The friction between the Master and the Jedi Council had not mellowed with time, it would seem. “They think I’ve been on my mandatory retreat too long.” He explained, chuckling softly. 

So this sabbatical was a punishment? 

Qui-Gon Jinn was ever the maverick, more attuned to the Force, to instinct, than the demands of the Order. It was a quality that frustrated and even embarrassed Obi-Wan in his youth, but one he admired as a Knight. “Indeed, Master,” Obi-Wan replied, slipping into his old role of peacekeeper, a comforting, well-worn rhythm, “They did say you’ve been...ignoring their efforts to communicate.”

“Ignoring? I wouldn’t go that far.” Qui-Gon smirked. “I would call it prioritizing.” He motioned to the vivid tableau around them. “ I find the birds offer far more scintillating conversation than Master Windu. But I’m flattered they were worried enough to send a Knight of your esteem.” 

Sudden warmth radiated in Obi-Wan’s cheeks. “I happened to be in the area.” He felt Qui-Gon studying his face and struggled to keep his features schooled under the scrutiny. He could rarely hide his feelings from Qui-Gon, though much was different since last he tried. Obi-Wan had learned to wear the mask of Jedi calm that once eluded him. He was developing a reputation for it, in fact. That curated stoicism was part of the reason he was requested for so many delicate negotiations. Except his opponents in that arena were never this intimidating. 

Finally, Qui-Gon reached out to squeeze his arm. “I’m glad. It’s been…” He glanced at the horizon, “It’s been too long, Knight Kenobi. I wouldn’t want to blemish your record by refusing to accompany you back to Coruscant. But the locals already requested my presence to celebrate the new moon. Apparently they believe I’ll bring good luck for the coming winter.” He laughed. “I doubt the Council would agree about that. It’s only a few days from now. Could the completion of your mission wait until then?”

Obi-Wan hesitated. He pictured the reaction of the Council. They had not sent him to Bikko to join the retreat. But it was Qui-Gon asking him the favor. Qui-Gon. How often did he yearn for the man’s advice and wisdom? And lament the distance between them? It’s only a few days… “It would be rude to reject their offer, especially after the kindness and hospitality they’ve shown you. “ Obi-Wan decided, straightening, feeling lighter as he further convinced himself, “I think the Council would feel the same.” 

Qui-Gon smiled. A cool wind lifted the loose strands of hair around his face. “Excellent. I appreciate it, Obi-Wan.” 

The Force swelled. Potential fallout back at the Temple would be worth it. For Obi-Wan, in that moment, nothing had changed.


	2. Chapter 2

—

The mist dissipated as they walked up the path. Qui-Gon glanced over at his former Padawan. Something in his chest tightened. 

_This was not a good idea._

The Council was always chiding him for his lack of common sense, his insistence on a superior connection to the Living Force. Where the esteemed board saw blatant flouting of their sacred rules, he saw the truth: the will of the Force. He followed that current, instead of swimming against it. 

But in this, in asking _Obi-Wan_ to stay with him, Qui-Gon knew he was not trying to satisfy any mystic demands. He had simply looked at the younger man, seeing him closer than he had in years, and his heart overruled all inner objections. He was making things exceptionally more difficult for himself, and it would have been _better_ if some other Knight had come, someone with whom Qui-Gon did not share years of history, years more of wordless distance. 

He did not know if Obi-Wan would demand an explanation for the void in their friendship, because, he realized, he did not know Obi-Wan at all anymore. How had the demands of Knighthood and the war changed the kind and mild man he had taught? 

“You are...feeling well these days, Obi-Wan?” He cringed inwardly. Being alone on a mountaintop did not help _improve_ social grace. 

Obi-Wan just smiled at him. “Yes, thanks. You?”

Qui-Gon held aside an overgrown bush so they could pass. “On forced sabbatical but other than that, fine.”

A gentle laugh. “I take it you and the Council have not warmed to each other since I was Knighted?”

“We remain cold and distant, as I prefer.” Qui-Gon quipped.

Obi-Wan misstepped and nearly slid on the rocks beneath them. 

_Shavit_. He had not meant—-

“Whatever gets the job done, I suppose.” Obi-Wan responded after a moment, composure unruffled. “So you must have impressed the locals. Or are they the sort of beings who confuse Jedi with gods?”

Qui-Gon smirked. “Somewhere in between. They know I’m human but maintain that I am magic.”

“I remember being thirteen years old and thinking the same thing.”

Qui-Gon knew it was meant in kindness. It still hurt in a way he could not afford to examine. “And then you got to know me better and came to your senses.”

“Ahhh,” Obi-Wan shook his head, smiling, “According to Master Windu following my mission to Kashyyyk, I am utterly without sense.”

Qui-Gon stopped to wipe the gathering sweat from his brow. He wondered if it was possible to finish his hike without breathing at all. “If that is the case,” he responded softly, “there is little hope for the rest of us.”

“And how is Anakin faring under your tutelage? I admit I was surprised when the Council did not send him to retrieve you.”

 _No, this was not a good idea_. “Anakin is fulfilling his potential. He has made me very proud.”

Obi-Wan nodded, smiling again with his mouth closed. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Have you given any thought to taking a Padawan of your own? I imagine any initiate would clamor at the chance to be apprenticed by _The Negotiator_.”

His companion groaned. “I _do not_ encourage that damnable sobriquet. And I’m not on Coruscant often enough to visit the Initiate’s Wing. I’m lucky to visit my own bed.”

“You’re lucky to still have your head. We weren’t meant to be soldiers. We are peacekeepers, even if the Council doesn’t quite remember.” Qui-Gon was always on the verge of defection now, as the Order became less and less recognizable. He had stayed for Anakin. For Obi-Wan, even if they were strangers. “But I know you don’t exactly have a choice in the matter.”

Obi-Wan stiffened. “We always have a choice, Master. We aren’t slaves.”

“Or clones.” Qui-Gon countered. “Here, turn here.”

They wove through heavy brush and climbed a steep hill, the momentary tension eased by the shared exertion. 

When the humble shelter appeared, Qui-Gon chanced to speak again. “It is good to hear you call me Master.” The air was cooler up here. 

Obi-Wan wore an imperceptible expression. He had learned to do that long before, back when he was still an apprentice, as Qui-Gon recalled. Anakin could never quite hide his emotions behind the Jedi mask like that.

“What else would I call you?” Obi-Wan asked. 

Qui-Gon did not know how to answer that question, and so he didn’t. The years of separation had made him clumsy, where once there had been an ease of closeness, of anticipating the other’s next word. For that, he could blame no one but himself. “I must warn you, the accommodations are rather...cozy.”

“Ah yes, the universal euphemism for _small and run-down_.” Obi-Wan surveyed the little hovel, with its crumbling wall, roof half-eaten by rain and time. 

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” Qui-Gon assured him. Certainly they had made do with much worse, back when they were Master and Padawan. “For example, there are no bladder-bug infestations.” 

Obi-Wan dried his forehead with his sleeve. “Are you sure about that?”

“After the mission to Akiva, how could I forget?”

But of course it would seem to anyone Qui-Gon had forgotten many things, or chosen to forget them. Obi-Wan was too polite to remark on that. He was gazing out at the view, tree tops and silent mountains, all dappled in the fresh sun. “Perhaps I should get the Council to send me on sabbatical.”

Qui-Gon laughed. “Just irritate them for a good half a century, and they will.”

In the morning light, Obi-Wan’s eyes were blue like clear water, or a cloudless sky, and Qui-Gon could see beneath the necessary veneer of Knighthood, to the still-young man beneath it. He remembered now that sunshine made auburn hair glow red and blonde at the tips. “Come to think of it, I’m surprised it’s taken them this _long_ to send you away.” Obi-Wan drawled, “Except, I think Master Yoda is secretly in your corner. At least, that’s how it always seemed to me.”

Obi-Wan standing beside him while he received his rebukes and punishments before the Council, his proper and obedient apprentice routinely mortified by Qui-Gon’s defiance. “It must have been a relief to strike out on your own, and follow the rules for once.” Qui-Gon smiled, leading them up to the cabin’s door.

“It was awhile before I was deemed fit to be on my own. I didn’t feel much relief when I finally was.”

Force. Qui-Gon wondered if it would be inappropriate to fall to his knees now and beg for forgiveness, in exchange for no more honest answers. _I should have been the one to help you when you weren’t ready. I ran away. I’m sorry. I’m sorry._ “Well, it would appear you have flourished in your role. Yoda may look the other way when it comes to my exploits, but you have always been one of his favorites.”

“Yoda doesn’t have favorites,” Obi-Wan demurred. “Any more than a Master has a favorite Padawan.”

“I can confidently say my own Master had a favorite. I can confidently say it wasn’t me.” Qui-Gon swung open the old wood door. “Here we are. Now that you’re here, I believe the place has reached maximum capacity.”

It was only a partial joke. 

“The cabin was originally built by a hermit, the villagers say. He got tired of people and moved up here, only coming down to gather food and complain.”

Obi-Wan surveyed the cramped space and looked at Qui-Gon. “Sounds...familiar.”

“Now, now,” Qui-Gon took a few steps into the kitchen, gathering supplies for tea, “If I lived here, I would have nothing to complain about. There’s a chair.”

One chair, the legs beginning to succumb to mildew. Obi-Wan stood. “Where is the ‘fresher?”

Qui-Gon glanced up, holding in a smile. “Does it seem like there’s room for a ‘fresher in here? I like to think nature provides wherever we need it.”

Obi-Wan grumbled something about “ _uncivilized_ ” and walked out the door.

Qui-Gon returned to his task, ignoring the slight tremor in his hands. 

\----

The needs of his body taken care of, Obi-Wan lingered outside the cabin. Bikko was undeniably beautiful, suffused with a simple calm, but he could borrow none of it to soothe his nerves. What had he gotten himself into? He was supposed to retrieve Qui-Gon and move on. That would have been the easier thing to do. Small talk on the ship, and then they would part ways on Coruscant, return to their separate lives. Now he would need to find days’ worth of pleasantries to exchange with the man who had spent years completely avoiding him. 

No, not completely. There had been a few notes in the early months, while he was still recovering, but even those had petered off as, Obi-Wan assumed, Qui-Gon grew busier with Anakin. 

_He asked me to stay. He didn’t have to. He could have walked away._

A petty voice somewhere in his depths answered, _He is good at walking away._

But he was not a child, far from it, and he would not entertain such thoughts. He would enjoy spending this rare time with the man who raised him, and leave the spirits of old hurt where they belonged. 

He watched birds gather on a tree branch, marveling that their shared song sounded different from the songs of other birds, every bird on every world having their own unique music.

——

“Do you still take your tea plain?” Qui-Gon asked, handing his guest a chipped and discolored cup. There was no common area, so they sat cross-legged on his bedroll, dirt-dusted boots left by the door. 

“Yes, thank you.” Obi-Wan took a sip and made a satisfied sound in the back of his throat. “That’s very good.”

Qui-Gon lifted an eyebrow. “That is the strongest brew of mudleaf. I expected at least a shudder.”

Obi-Wan drank deeply and smiled. “Mudleaf _is_ on the more powerful end of mild. Lately I’ve been enjoying pepper tea, when I can find it.” 

“Your tastes have certainly changed.” Qui-Gon said. 

“I wouldn’t say changed as much as evolved.” Obi-Wan drained the cup and set it beside him. “I’m an old man now, after all.”

“In that case, I’m ancient.” Qui-Gon noticed the red veins streaking through the whites of the Knight’s eyes, the subtle slump of his shoulders as he leaned against the wall. “It would not offend me whatsoever if you rested, Obi-Wan. I know the journey here is laborious. We can catch up after you’ve had some sleep.”

“I haven’t been sleeping much, as of late.” Obi-Wan told him. “But I would take more tea, if you can spare it.” 

Qui-Gon started to rise, but Obi-Wan stilled him with a hand on his leg. “I didn’t mean for you to get it, Master. But thank you.”

He watched Obi-Wan stand at the sink, struck by the surreal quality of the moment, having his old Padawan here, where he had expected to be left alone. “Why aren’t you sleeping? The rigors of war?”

Obi-Wan sat again, holding the steaming cup between his hands. “Self-training, I suppose. Exhaustion dulls the senses.”

“That would appear to be an argument in favor of _more_ sleep.” Qui-Gon pointed out. 

“If you train your body to become less reliant on physical comforts, you sharpen your connection to the Force. Or so, that is the theory.” Obi-Wan explained. “So far I’ve only replaced some sleeping sessions with meditation.”

“Even Yoda sleeps,” Qui-Gon reminded him. “I admit to favoring the unorthodox, but this seems rather...extreme, Obi-Wan.”

“War is defined by constant extremes. I simply want to be as prepared as I can be.”

Qui-Gon detected an edge of irritation in Obi-Wan’s tone. _I will send him flying out of here before midday_. “I can understand that. Though while you’re here, you needn’t be so...prepared. Bikko is a peaceful world. The people are generous, though they keep their distance.”

“Just your type then.” Obi-Wan said, and went to set his empty cup in the sink. 

\---

_“Obi-Wan--_

_I am sorry I cannot be there. Healer Che says you are improving. I am glad._

_Qui-Gon.”_

_“Master,_

_I cannot hold a data pad or speak very well yet. I am writing you with the help of Healer Eerin. Thank you for contacting me. Yes, I am improving. The healers think I will make a full recovery, in time. I hope you are doing well, and Anakin also. I am sorry you are not here. Master Yoda said I have been Knighted and my braid is gone. Did you cut my braid? I wish I had been aware of it. I wanted to thank you for all you have done for me. I hope I can thank you in person soon._

_Sincerely,  
Obi-Wan.”_

——-


	3. Chapter 3

——-

 _What are you thinking?_ Obi-Wan chastised himself, standing at the cabin’s smeared, little window. Qui-Gon was gathering clothes to wash in a nearby pond, and Obi-Wan felt relief at the prospect of time alone while the man attended to the chore. He was truly happy to see his old Master again. He didn’t know why his jaw tightened when Qui-Gon spoke, or why he was so unsettled in this place of inarguable peace and beauty.

Except he did know _why_. The _why_ screamed in his blood, the part of his soul that still ached from things he did not understand. He had been a good apprentice. Not perfect, but neither had Qui-Gon been the perfect Master.

_Obviously._

He glanced around the tiny room. It was barely big enough for two people to breathe in, let alone accommodate the huge specters of the past that loomed between them. He just needed to remember that life had been simpler once, and besides, it was only a few days. Obi-Wan could do anything for a few days—even pretend that he was disciplined enough to let go of all of his emotions. That was always the goal, of course, to be unburdened by the albatross that was the heart, to live on a higher plane, but he was not there, yet. 

This was a test. 

Qui-Gon appeared behind him, a bundle of beige cloth in his arms. “Shall we go then?”

Obi-Wan turned around. “You...want me to go with you?”

“You are free to do what you wish, but I thought you might want to see a bit more of our surroundings. They have slightly better ambiance than the cabin.” Qui-Gon smiled, and it lit his eyes to a brilliant blue. “You could swim, or lay in the grass and not sleep.”

This was a test. The Force was testing him. “Thank you. I’ll follow your lead.”

———

Qui-Gon dropped the stack of dirty linens-tunic, leggings, socks and blanket-at the pond’s edge. “An old woman in the village gave me soap,” he explained, removing a cloth satchel from his pocket. “She makes it herself. She offered to show me how, when I arrived. Said that I looked like I should make things.” He dipped his clothes in the water and scattered the contents of the satchel. He scrubbed as he talked, “I told her in another life, perhaps I am her husband and we make soaps together. She poked me in the rib and asked ‘ _Why not this life?_ ’”

Obi-Wan sat in the grass. He laughed and his gentle mirth carried across the afternoon winds.

Qui-Gon did not know a sound as familiar as Obi-Wan’s laughter could be so painful. He took a careful breath, focusing on rinsing. “Do you need me to wash anything for you?”

Obi-Wan held up a dismissive hand. “Oh no, and I wouldn’t ask you to, Master.”

“I _know_ ,” Qui-Gon replied, craning his neck to look back at the younger man, “That’s why _I_ asked. I know you hate wearing dirty clothes.”

“There’s rarely a chance to change into a clean uniform on the battlefield. It has forced me to be less—“

“Fussy?”

Obi-Wan crossed his arms. “ _No_. I was going to say less _particular_.”

Qui-Gon chuckled, ringing out his dripping clothes before laying them out in the grass to dry. “I seem to remember you being quite particular.”

“And I seem to remember you using rhiini leaves for deodorant. I _know_ I remember it not working very well.” 

Qui-Gon pulled the stale-smelling tunic over his head. “Deodorant blocks the natural systems of the body.” He replied, unbuckling his boots. “The human scent can be a deterrent to unfriendly species.”

“And other humans, in some cases.” Obi-Wan chimed in, with that cheeky look he perfected when he was a Padawan. 

“How is it that you can still sound thoroughly charming while insulting me?” Qui-Gon slipped off his leggings and small clothes. “No wonder so many princes and princesses and assassins fell in love with you.”

Obi-Wan’s face suddenly looked flushed, but the sun could have been to blame. “It was just the one assassin. Hardly impressive.”

“Except he was hired to kill you.” He stepped waist-deep into the lukewarm water, washing the rest of his clothes and body with handfuls of the artisan’s soap. “Wasn’t the Jelucan princess recently engaged when she cornered you in the palace hall?”

“An engagement of political convenience. And I did nothing, nothing, to encourage her...enthusiasm.”

Qui-Gon looked at Obi-Wan from across the pond. “That is my point. You don’t have to do anything.” He missed Obi-Wan’s reaction to that, as he plunged his head underwater. 

———-

The Jedi Order adhered to few guidelines in regards to nudity. The bare form was a mere fact of existence, no more sinful or less natural than rhiini trees or lorngales. Obi-Wan had seen his own Master naked many times, as Qui-Gon had seen him in various states of undress. When Obi-Wan was twenty they had crash landed on a bitterly cold and barren world, and he could clearly recall huddling against Qui-Gon, skin to skin, that feeling of being cocooned in warmth. Qui-Gon had wrapped around him without a thought given to modesty. 

As a General, Obi-Wan stripped off his filthy, blood-soaked tunics beside a hundred soldiers, their bodies anonymous, nakedness frank and unremarkable. 

Obi-Wan was just unaccustomed to Qui-Gon’s presence. It was...more than he had expected, or remembered. He had not felt nervous, _cowed_ , like this in years. He huffed and glanced away, out at the quiet expanse of grey hills and yellow valleys. _Eat of the Force, drink of the Force, surrender all weakness and desire._

He was not hungry. He did not thirst. He would not bend to worry or resentment, nor the immature need that reared up inside him when he looked at Qui-Gon. “Shall I find you a towel?” He offered, lifting his eyes to the water again.

“There aren’t any,” Qui-Gon replied, rising from the pond, froth dripping from his legs. A breeze stirred the trees and he smiled, spreading his arms. “The Force provides.” He squeezed the remaining water from his long hair, then stretched out in the grass beside Obi-Wan. “Do you truly believe you can stop sleeping?”

Obi-Wan was sitting painfully straight. “I believe the body is an obstacle in the path to the Force.”

“And for all those years of your apprenticeship, I thought I was the unhinged one. You have out-mavericked the maverick. I would be proud if I wasn’t confused.” Qui-Gon folded his arms behind his head. “And a little worried, it must be said.”

That same anger spiked hot behind his eyes. _Since when do you waste time worrying about_ me _?_ “I would think you of all Jedi would appreciate differing points of view, Master.”

“I do, but I also appreciate a good nap.” Qui-Gon said, and closed his eyes. 

Obi-Wan wanted to trudge back up to the cabin, but his limbs were too heavy. He should have known better than to rest when he was tired. Now he was too tired.

 _What sense does that make?_ He wondered. _Maybe the new moon will come early._ But that didn’t make any more sense than his last thought, and when he noticed Qui-Gon drift away on the eddies of languid, midday slumber, Obi-Wan waded into the water without removing his boots. 

\------

_Hello Qui-Gon,_

_I hope you are well and that Anakin is adjusting to his new life. The other morning I was sure that you had died on Naboo. Bant spent an hour convincing me otherwise. When I am discouraged by this slow recovery, I remind myself that I have lost nothing, when I was so close to losing my life, or yours. I have nothing to be sad about._

_Did you receive my last message?_

_I have suffered some setbacks. All of which are temporary, the healers assure me. The pain medication makes it difficult to put two words together. Bant is currently cross with me, as I have refused my last several doses. This is to say I would be coherent if you find time to call. I cannot remember much of what happened. I dream of that day, but I do not know if my dreams are an honest reflection. Sometimes I wake up and think you will be here, and I will still be a Padawan. Sometimes it is a comforting thought._

_\--Obi-Wan._

_On Entralla w/ Anakin. Limited signal. Take your medication.--Q.J._

———-


	4. Chapter 4

———-

Qui-Gon first felt the sharp tickle of grass beneath his bare skin. He lingered there, in the bleary space between sleep and wakefulness, as his thoughts materialized, and he remembered that he was on Bikko, and Obi-Wan had come. 

Obi-Wan. 

He blinked against the sun’s glare and glanced beside him. The other man was gone. Disappointment flinched somewhere in his chest. He propped himself on his elbows. His skin was warm and dry. He ran a hand through his hair; it was only wet at the roots, which meant he had likely slept for a few hours. Qui-Gon cast out tentative lines in the Force, sensed the Knight’s presence nearby. Probably up at the cabin. 

He let himself sink back into the bed of soft blades, hands folded across his stomach. Thus far they had _mostly_ avoided uncomfortable conversation, but questions hung in the air, specters of the past and the years of silence. Obi-Wan had never been the kind to broach these things frankly—-but then, he did not know Obi-Wan as he once had. Perhaps time, and the war, had hardened him. 

He did not know. Because he had not allowed himself to be in the position to know. Obi-Wan had tried. There had been letters, comm messages, hopeful glances and even the offer of a shared meal. All rebuffed by Qui-Gon, with the excuse of a new Padawan, extended missions, a stomach bug.

He had once turned down his former apprentice’s gentle invitation with an invented gastrointestinal virus. 

And then, at some point, before Qui-Gon had even realized, the efforts dwindled. He had been relieved. Padawans were trained to be self-sufficient, abandon the cocoon of childhood and release the weight of attachments. 

_“When I’m grown up, will you stop talking to me?”_

_“Why would you say that, Anakin? I will always want to talk to you.”_

_“Obi-Wan is grown up and now you don’t talk to him anymore. Did he do something really awful?”_

_“No. No, not at all.”_

_“Okay, then why—“_

_“Because he’s very busy. And so are we, aren’t we?”_

_“Yeah. I guess you’re right.”_

He had not meant to think of Anakin. But this sabbatical had turned out to be little more than thinking, wondering, regretting. The ramshackle cabin was his mind and he just tromped around it, spent as much time as he could outside of it, only to find that the grass and trees and breeze, all of Bikko’s quiet beauty, carried his thoughts too. Anakin in the sky, Obi-Wan in the water. 

His good and devoted Padawans. Now, ironically, Anakin was beyond his reach, and Obi-Wan was right here. But Obi-Wan had not chosen to follow him; he was following the Council’s orders. Qui-Gon felt a tinge of shame for teasing the younger man earlier. He did not support this odd sleep embargo, but it was Obi-Wan’s prerogative. Qui-Gon had not done anything in the last several years to earn the right to question him. 

_If he was still my Padawan, I would send him to bed for a week._

An image appeared to him, unbidden: the lorngales in the trees, their twitching wings, knowing eyes. He heard a distant bird’s call, but of course lorngales were not native to Bikko, but Naboo. 

He climbed to his feet and noticed the clothes he had left to dry on the grass were missing. _Curious_. He stretched, then started back toward the cabin, combing fingers attempting to tame his tangled mane. His stomach roiled and groaned, reminding him he had not eaten since the night before. For the rest of the journey he focused on what food he could scrounge up. He had subsisted on random meals of greens, as well as some meats and grains gifted to him at the mountain’s base. But he should prepare something more proper for Obi-Wan. He knew his old Padawan had a sweet tooth, and there was a jar of honey in the cabin somewhere—

He spotted his tunics and leggings hung between two trees, smiled a little to himself. Obi-Wan had taken up most of the chores during his apprenticeship, as he was naturally more orderly than Qui-Gon. Anakin had been a pack rat, and never seemed to notice the messes he-or Qui-Gon-made. 

The moment. Focus on the moment. 

He pinched a sleeve; the clothes were still too damp to be comfortable. _Not_ wearing them, however, was sure to make Obi-Wan uncomfortable. He compromised by draping a robe around his shoulders, holding it closed as he entered the cabin. 

He did not think to announce his arrival; he was accustomed to the solitude. Another Jedi would sense him anyway. Obi-Wan was sitting in meditation pose, palms resting on his knees. The late afternoon light fell across him. It was as if the Force was illuminating him from the inside out, and Qui-Gon took a half step back, loathe to intrude on the Knight’s communion. Yet he could not turn away from the unexpected tableau; yesterday he would not have imagined Obi-Wan here.

Obi-Wan lifted his right eyelid. “Hello there.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Qui-Gon went to the sink and began sifting around. “I thought you might want some tea while I find us dinner.” 

“Oh, don’t worry about me, Qui-Gon. I’m not hungry just now, though I wouldn’t turn down tea if you’re already making it.”

Qui-Gon opened the canister and shook out some dark, fragrant leaves. “Not hungry? I can’t imagine you’ve subsisted on much beyond ration bars since you landed. I could eat a bantha right now, myself.”

Obi-Wan leaned back against the wall, crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Ah, I understand. If I put on some clothes, will your appetite return?”

That nudged the suggestion of a smile out of Obi-Wan. “A few years ago, I was held hostage for a week, with a particular talkative and elderly Gungan. At one point he described a worrisome mole on his hindquarters. And then he showed me.”

Qui-Gon smothered his laughter in a palm. 

“So as you can guess, I lost my appetite long before today.”

“Understandable.” Qui-Gon said, hands busied with the familiar motions of brewing tea. “I should like to hear more of Knight Kenobi’s adventures across the galaxy.”

“You would?”

The reply was instinctive, layered with history, and Qui-Gon could sense that Obi-Wan already regretted saying it. He absorbed the hurt, feeling it fully before releasing it to the Force. He had left Obi-Wan alone in his hurt and confusion for six years. He could not resent the comment, or any others. “Of course. I’ve heard bits and pieces here and there; you’ve become a living legend of the Temple, after all.”

Obi-Wan groaned, scooting over to make room for Qui-Gon and the tea. “You dispatch one Sith and no one lets you forget it.”

Qui-Gon handed him his cup and sat back, inhaling the rich steam. Tea had always reminded him of Obi-Wan. Anakin had never taken to—- _damn it._ “I certainly haven’t forgotten.”

Obi-Wan gave him a dubious look that seemed to say _‘but haven’t you?’_ and took a sip. “I suppose I’m lucky in a way. I can’t remember most of that day, or several days after that. This is always supremely disappointing to the younglings who tug on my tunics and ask how I defeated the Dark Side all by myself.”

“If only that were so. I’d appreciate the early retirement.”

“I thought that’s what you were doing.” Obi-Wan said softly. “At least, that’s what the Council is worried about. That you’re cutting ties by remaining here.”

Qui-Gon snorted. “Wanting time to myself is such a crime.”

Obi-Wan was studying him with those keen eyes, forever shifting between blue and grey and green. “Forgive my saying so, but is that really all you’re here for? Time for yourself?”

“What else is a sabbatical? I used my allotted days and then...decided I was not ready to return.”

They had fallen into their old positions easily: Qui-Gon explaining himself, Obi-Wan caught between sympathy for his erstwhile teacher and duty to the Jedi Council. “Why am I here, rather than Anakin?”

Qui-Gon lowered his head and breathed. What use was there in hiding? He had hidden enough from this man, who deserved transparency, had traveled a long way for the truth. “We are both here because Anakin is not. Anakin left the Order, with my blessing.”

He heard the cup clatter against the ground. “He _what?_ ”

Qui-Gon ventured a look at Obi-Wan. The younger Jedi was slack-jawed; his shock echoed in the Force. “He decided to leave. He gave his reasons and I understood them. The Council was not pleased, but they never are.”

Obi-Wan ran a hand along his hair. “He must have been close to _Knighthood_. Qui-Gon—“

“I did not want to pressure him into doing something he no longer had he heart for. I did not free him from slavery simply to enslave him in a different way. He is free to make his own choices. I cannot fault him for choosing a path that leads away from the Jedi Order, and from me. I can only hope for the best for him. But it was still difficult, letting him go. At first, I begged him to stay.”

Obi-Wan seemed to be having his own difficulties digesting the information. He was sitting with his shoulders taut, staring ahead at some spot on the dingy wall. Suddenly he stood and wiped his hands on his leggings. “I have to use the ‘fresher...uh...bush...excuse me.”

Qui-Gon noticed droplets of tea on the floor, where the cup had been set aside with mindless haste. 

———

Obi-Wan walked to the darkening brush and trees, heart beating in his ears. He did not run. He walked. 

Qui-Gon had begged Anakin to stay. Obi-Wan could not recall that same desperation when he was merely thirteen, and confused, on Melida/Daan. His Master had all but _begged_ the Council to promote Obi-Wan to make way for Anakin. 

Begged. Begged. 

His stomach twisted and he leaned against a tree, closing his eyes. 

_There is no emotion. There is peace._

The place where the Sith drove his red blade into him had not ached like this in months. He was nauseous with it, a burn deeper than muscle. 

“Eat of the Force, drink of the Force, surrender all weaknesses…”

He had been wrong to stay. He could not endure this. He was tired and hungry and sweating, sweating despite the cool breeze, and he was _not_ a Padawan anymore. He did not need Qui-Gon Jinn’s approval, and what happened with Anakin did not concern Obi-Wan whatsoever. 

“Obi-Wan?”

He startled. Shavit. Just because Qui-Gon didn’t care one whit about privacy or modesty or _manners_ didn’t mean that— “I’m fine,” Obi-Wan called back, gritting his teeth as he heard the crack in his voice. He straightened his uniform, dried his face and emerged from the leaves. “I’m sorry. The Council just commed. I’m needed on another assignment.”

Qui-Gon stood some feet away, in the burgeoning twilight. Surprise flickered across his face, and Obi-Wan was not satisfied by that. 

Not at all. On any level. 

———-

_Qui-Gon,_

_Anakin must be thrilled by all these missions. I hope you have recovered from your Correllian flu. Do you remember when you wanted to avoid the royal feast on Fellucia, so you told them I had that same flu?_

_It was the wrong thing to do. I was sick a week later, sicker than I’d been in my life._

_Obi-Wan._

———-


	5. Chapter 5

———-

“Now that they know you’re alive and not planning on disavowing the Order, they’re eager for me to move on.” Obi-Wan said, furtively shoring up his shields. “I must move on. I’ll just need to get my things.”

Qui-Gon followed him back inside the cabin. “Now? But—“

Obi-Wan scanned the cramped room for his rucksack. It took him longer than it should have. His blasted hands were shaking. “I’m afraid _now_ is the Council’s usual order.”

“They won’t allow you at least a night’s sleep?” Qui-Gon’s hands went to his hips. 

Obi-Wan stuffed his canteen into the sack. Everything was in disarray. Everything. He neatly wiped the sweat from his brow with two fingers. “Perhaps you’ve been on _sabbatical_ too long. The rest of us must follow the Council’s mandates, at the time they’re given.” 

Qui-Gon snorted softly. “I suppose a night’s sleep is inconsequential to someone who doesn’t sleep. Perhaps I still think of you as a headstrong Padawan unable to recognize his own limits.” His eyes glinted in the cabin’s dim amber light. “I wonder why?”

Obi-Wan swallowed. His heart was still beating too fast. _Calm. Calm_. “Perhaps because you’ve never known me as anything except your Padawan.” _Never tried_ , he wanted to say, more than he wanted to say anything else. He wanted to scream the words. _Why didn’t you beg to see me? Why didn’t you beg to stay with me when I needed you?_

Looking at Qui-Gon suddenly made Obi-Wan feel incompetent. Disposable. He had worked hard to rid himself of that feeling. _Blast blast blast_. The pain deepened, spread to the old saber wound, and he would have doubled over, if not for pride. He closed his eyes, only once, as the acute wave washed over him. 

“I will contact the Council then.” Qui-Gon Jinn said, regarding him with concern. The man must truly see him as that Padawan, someone unfinished, needing guidance, even with over half a decade of experience as a Knight. “I’ll tell them I’m holding you hostage and won’t release you until morning.”

Obi-Wan’s lip twitched at the undercurrent of authority and _presumption_. “With all due respect, my old Master, I doubt they would believe you could subdue me. And I’ll be fine. It’s just a _walk_.” 

Qui-Gon was turning something over in his brain. He crossed his arms and drummed his fingers against his elbows. “I’ll go with you then.”

Obi-Wan almost dropped his pack. “Oh, that’s not—“

“Our lives are busy. We could get to know each other marginally better and you’d still be on time for this mysterious mission of yours.” Qui-Gon glanced down with a wry smile. “Although I suppose I should change first.” 

“Really, it isn’t necessary.”

“A thing doesn’t need to be necessary to want to do it.” Qui-Gon was rooting around the cabin, then stopped and laughed. “I do believe all my clothing is still outside.”

“And undoubtedly still wet. I managed to find my way up, unchaperoned. I’m perfectly capable of going downhill.” And didn’t _that_ sound just about right? Obi-Wan had not felt such a strong urge to stomp his feet and scream since he was...well, Qui-Gon Jinn’s apprentice. Was this why Qui-Gon had avoided him all these years? Were they so incompatible? Of course there had been disagreements, even bitter ones, during his training. But what he remembered foremost, what he felt when he saw Qui-Gon again, in the morning’s light, was the shared jokes, and a fondness that Obi-Wan had never quite felt for anyone else since. His voice softened. “I’ll be fine, but thank you.”

Qui-Gon stopped. A thin cloud of defeat passed over his blue eyes before they settled into measured acceptance. “It’s your prerogative, of course, Knight Kenobi.” 

Yes. It was. Their relationship was not as it had been. Obi-Wan had a choice now, and his choice was to get out of the tiny cabin and back to his current life. He was finding that being _here_ , with Qui-Gon, was a bit like trying to force himself into clothes that no longer fit. Obi-Wan slung his pack over his shoulder and bowed. “It was good to see you again.” He said.

Qui-Gon closed his robe and crossed his arms over his chest. He smiled, the skin crinkling around his eyes. “It was. I only wish—but nevermind. As you said, the Council waits for no one.”

Obi-Wan gave a tight-mouthed smile in return, cast a last glance around the humble space. In another life, the sparse little cabin could easily have been Qui-Gon’s home. He could imagine the man living here, immersed only in the Force, the pure and wild thrum of nature all around him, free of commitments and unwanted obligations. His heart twisted. “I hope to see you sooner next time. Not, um...let us endeavor to meet again before several more years have passed.”

He had not meant to say it, though he at least couched the sentiment in the stiff, proper language he had learned to use as armor. 

And then Qui-Gon reached out, and brushed his calloused fingers across Obi-Wan’s cheek. “That would be...I would like that, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan hesitated. He had not been touched, beyond a handshake, for longer than he could recall. But he recognized the flicker of indecision for what it was: weakness, and sentimentality, and emotions better suiting an initiate, rather than an established Knight who was accustomed to his independence. Obi-Wan bowed once more, and walked out the door into the quiet darkness. 

————-

Qui-Gon had wanted to be left alone. He had not wanted Obi-Wan of all people to show up here and interrupt, _complicate_ , his solitude. Had he not decided, after Naboo, to let Obi-Wan go? 

And here he was, standing in the middle of the room, feeling bereft. 

Like a fool. Worse, a hypocrite. 

He could not pry his eyes from the rickety door, as if Obi-Wan’s mind, or the Force’s will, would change, and he would come back. But another minute, two, passed, and the sound of boots crushing leaves receded further and further, until all he could hear was the indifferent insects, droning faintly outside the window. Qui-Gon turned then, and saw the abandoned teacup on the floor, the remains cooled and still, the only physical proof that Obi-Wan had ever been here. 

And even that would evaporate and disappear. 

Qui-Gon’s instinct was to go after him. An accomplished Knight Obi-Wan certainly was, but Qui-Gon could tell when he was lying. Though the false excuse stung, Qui-Gon could hardly blame him. He had spent the years since Obi-Wan’s Knighthood building a wall between them, cemented by dishonesty and evasions. But he had hoped to be given the opportunity, here, in these few days, to show his old Padawan how he regretted his choices. Losing Anakin hurt, burned at the edges of his heart, yet he sensed the simple happiness in him, and Qui-Gon could not deny him that, despite the blow to the Order, to himself.

In the scant hours they spent together, Obi-Wan showed Qui-Gon that he was anything but happy. A Jedi’s life was necessarily spartan, it was true. Obi-Wan had been such an earnest student, so dedicated to the path, and now, as a Knight, he seemed….too dedicated. Most Knights Obi-Wan’s age were training their first apprentices, or chasing adventure out in the universe. Qui-Gon was certain that _all_ of them slept. 

How could he reconcile his former Padawan with that stoic, contained man who just left? 

When Anakin walked away from Qui-Gon, he was walking _towards_ love. Obi-Wan was just walking away from _him_.

The thought spread like an ache in his chest. He had not allowed himself to miss Obi-Wan, not in all these years, and the distance dulled his memories of what a smart, kind man Obi-Wan had been, for wasn’t it easier to release the idea of someone?

Seeing Obi-Wan, talking to him, feeling him that close in the Force—all of it sought to undo Qui-Gon, when he had come here for the express purpose of keeping his head together. To learn to be alone again, for good. He was not meant for this, teaching and failing one student after another, in whatever ways he had failed each of them. 

But he had thought these few days could be a gesture of amends to _this_ Padawan. Obi-Wan, the most dutiful of his apprentices, the only apprentice who pursued Qui-Gon’s tutelage, rather than the other way around. 

Qui-Go finally moved, taking numb steps to the bedroll. He should clean. He should prepare dinner. He did neither, sitting on the thin cushion and running his finger along the cold rim of Obi-Wan’s teacup. It was hard to believe they were once the closest of friends, that he…

He withdrew, leaned his back against the wall. Already Obi-Wan was fading from the cabin, traces of his unique essence gone, as if he had never come, and the last day only a strange, wistful dream. Before Bikko, Qui-Gon had not seen Obi-Wan since that evening in the Temple’s healing ward, when Vokara Che told him that Obi-Wan would survive. 

Qui-Gon was not proud of what he did after that, but it had seemed necessary, in the moment. He walked away first. So he couldn’t blame Obi-Wan; the fault always, always, laid with himself. Sometimes, he wondered what became of Obi-Wan’s braid, and who cut it. He never could ask. 

————

Obi-Wan didn’t know what to do with the anger. It was...it was…

Mud. That’s what it was. He tried very hard to be clean and orderly, but he always found himself clomping through sludge, until his steps were heavy and his skin crusted. Meditation cleansed, like water, except it couldn’t prevent more of the mud. He was forever, inescapably—

Not. At. Peace. 

Release, release, release. He knew he needed to give the anger and shock and resentment over to the Force. Yet it all clung to him, mud under his fingernails and splattered in his beard. He could smell it. Taste it. 

The sky was fully black now, and the sheltering trees blocked many of the stars. He imagined Qui-Gon gazing at the same stars from the cabin’s window, drinking his tea and communing with the night. 

Peaceful. 

Nothing could shatter that man’s calm. Except, apparently, Anakin Skywalker. Qui-Gon Jinn’s destiny, his _calling_ from the Force itself. When Anakin called, Qui-Gon stopped hearing anything, anyone, else. And that was why Obi-Wan stopped trying to be heard. He wrote the letters for longer than he should have, despite the feeble responses, and then the utter lack of responses, but he eventually accepted that their roles had changed. That’s what Obi-Wan learned to do: accept things. He accepted Qui-Gon’s intention to train Anakin, he accepted the ensuing silence, he accepted his own, rather unexpected, years of lonely, mostly solitary missions. 

But Qui-Gon could not accept Anakin’s decision to leave the Jedi. At least, not at first. He imagined the towering Master falling to his knees, grasping the boy’s ankles, begging him to reconsider. Begging. 

Begging.

Obi-Wan realized he didn’t know where he was walking, just that he was walking, sweat pouring into his eyes and his joints burning. He stopped and crouched in the brush and mud, breathing slowly, and dropped his head in his hands. He could hear his heart hammering, louder than the chatter of the night-birds or rustle of nocturnal creatures crawling along the trees. 

He would not move until this...thing passed. It would pass. He was simply taken aback. He was tired and the cabin had been quite small, too small for all the years and voices and memories trying to follow him inside there. He could not be there. He could not…

More sweat ran into his eyes, and it stung. “Blast,” he muttered, wiping at his eyes, but the sting intensified and tears rolled down his cheeks and he made a horribly undignified whimper in the back of his throat. 

“There is...there is…”

He searched for the words, those mantras he had repeated so often that now, when he needed them most, they were like a stone worn down between nervous fingers, smooth and poreless. He remembered when he awoke with the breathing mask strapped to his face, and the pain from the Sith’s wound still searing through muscles and sinew, asking Bant to find his river stone. The emblem of his apprenticeship: a black rock given to him by Qui-Gon. 

Obi-Wan saw the moonlight glint off the rocks among the mud and dirt. 

Rocks. Mud. 

How had his life come to be defined by such things? And Qui-Gon could just….just kick away thoughts and emotions and people from his life as easily as an errant pebble from the sole of his boot, kick them away and apparently not even _notice_ their absence, because who _notices_ pebbles, little insignificant rocks…

And Obi-Wan clawed at the ground all around him, taking fistfuls of the mud and rocks and heaving them into the night, using words he never permitted himself to use, snarling and cursing while the knees of his trousers and his sleeves and his robe were saturated because it was _raining_ —-

Actually _raining_ —

Now, when he had decided he would not endure another moment of Qui-Gon Jinn, the sky was tearing open, and the winds and rain pummeling the forest. Obi-Wan struggled to his feet. Already his body shivered beneath the sodden layers, and bitterly he thought of Qui-Gon walking into that lake, laying naked and serene in the grass after. 

He was not a child. He would not say that it was not fair. He was a Jedi Knight. He was above this. He would be above it all soon enough, flying up and out of Bikko and out of the past altogether. 

He just had to get past the damn rain. 

———

_Qui-Gon,_

_It is hard to believe nearly a year has passed since the Naboo assignment, and all that came with it. How is Anakin? I have not seen him since, well, my memory gets a bit dim around those days. I suppose I could just say, I have not seen him. I find myself thinking of that mission and feeling sad. And then I feel self-indulgent, and quite silly. You walked away with a bright new student, after all, so I cannot think of that mission solely in terms of loss._

_Bant tells me again and again that I must look at things more optimistically. You would know better than most that I tend to take a realistic view. I call it realistic, anyway. I confess it’s been more difficult to follow Bant’s advice lately._

_But I do not wish to wallow in my own problems. Besides, the healers maintain that my recovery is just a bit slower due to the nature of the injury. I have been cleared for routine assignments, at least._

_I contacted you to thank you for your years of training and support. In the darker days of my convalescence, your lessons were Light. That is something I shall never forget._

_I hope you are doing well._

_Sincerely,_

_Obi-Wan Kenobi_

_Qui-Gon,_

_I am on Dandalas for one of these routine missions. ‘Routine’, I have to come to discover, is a polite word for boring. But I appreciate boring these days, as I have always appreciated politeness._

_Recently I experienced a great deal of physical discomfort and the healers kept me for what ended up being a week’s stay in the ward. Tests, monitoring, so on. This blasted saber wound has given me such trouble. I asked Bant if you were in the Temple. She said you were not._

_Deception. Sometimes a word for politeness. Or compassion._

_It used to be I could sense you much better than this._

_—Obi-Wan._

_Master,_

_I hear that Anakin excels in his classes, and his skills are already setting him apart from Padawans twice his age. I am sincerely happy for him. He deserved better than the harsh life of a slave. As every child does._

_And I am happy for you, also. It seems you have finally found your purpose._

_I wish I could say the same for myself. But is that not what a Knight does? Look for a purpose?_

_—Obi-Wan._

_Master,_

_It seems strange, almost foreign, to think of the years I spent at your side. Did they happen at all? An elder on my last mission saw my scar and said that I am cursed. She kissed my forehead. I saw pity in her old eyes. Her entire village had just been destroyed by insurgents, yet she pitied me. I did not know what to think. I could not sleep that night._

_I have trouble sleeping. I’ve been researching ancient Jedi customs. There is more than one account of Masters who become so finely attuned to the Force, they no longer need to sleep. I find the idea appealing, even if Bant says I’m delusional. I don’t disagree with her assessment, exactly._

_Certainly it is delusional to think I don’t require sleep, or that you will ever answer me._

_I hope you are well._

_May the Force Be With You,_

_-Obi-Wan_

_Qui-Gon,_

_Two years. Hard to believe._

_You passed me in the meal hall when I was last at the Temple. I don’t think you saw me._

_Obi-Wan._

_Once you said the Force did not bring us together. That it was me, and my stubborn refusal to listen to the will of the Force. I thought, as the years passed, that we understood each other better._

_More than once, you said that I was your legacy. If you knew how often those words played in my head when I was an apprentice. Once, twice, countless times. You told me that I had saved you from the darkness after Xanatos. I do not think you believe your own words anymore. Is Anakin your legacy now, who saved you from my, what? Mediocrity? Is that the purpose of your apprentices? Must they save you? Not merely serve you?_

_I needed saving, and you saved me. I know you nearly died doing it. I am grateful to you. But I don’t understand. Was your sacrifice in that generator just an act of Jedi valor, the same as you would do for anyone in such mortal peril? It must have been. You have made it clear that I mean nothing more to you. When I was your Padawan, I would imagine my Knighthood, how our lives would change and grow. In those visions, you were always a part of my life. You were a part of my life for so long, Qui-Gon. It is an obvious weakness of mine that I...flounder, so completely, without you. It is not your job anymore to take care of me, and it is that stubborn part of me who still wants you to worry for me, to care for me, to love me._

_I would never tell anyone such things. It is difficult to admit them, even to myself. But I know these communiques are a bit like talking into the ether, and I cannot help it. I miss you._

_When I try to sleep, the wound hurts. Could it be that you were the one who refused to listen to the will of the Force, when you revived me on Naboo? Was I meant to die there?_

———


	6. Chapter 6

———

The rain battered the little cabin’s roof. Qui-Gon stood at the window, watching branches and leaves yield to the onslaught, the grass flooded with mud. Already Obi-Wan’s arrival that morning seemed far away. He thought of his Padawan appearing out of the brush, just as the sun crested over the horizon. He had not wanted anyone to come to Bikko, let alone Obi-Wan. Now he felt breathless as the storm seethed and poured. 

If he was just a man, he would dash out into the tumult, run through the trees and sheets of rain until he found Obi-Wan. He would seize him by the shoulders and just _tell him_. Surely Obi-Wan would understand then, the years of silence and unanswered messages. 

Yet he was Jedi, even if half of his apprentices left the Order, and he could not broadcast all that was in his heart. He closed his eyes, listening to the wind, feeling the cool air through the old window. The healers had told him Obi-Wan would likely not remember much of the Naboo mission. Qui-Gon never had the opportunity to ask Obi-Wan what, if any, parts of those fateful days survived in his mind, but Qui-Gon had heard that the new Knight was unable to provide the Council any details concerning the Sith warrior, or the duel in which Obi-Wan very nearly died. 

He sighed, and his breath collected like fog on the window’s glass. Qui-Gon supposed he should pack up and head back to the Temple, for whatever awaited him. He could only think of what _wouldn’t_ be there—Anakin, Obi-Wan. A purpose. How those who knew him best would balk at that revelation. Tahl had once told him he was always purposeful, even when that purpose seemed elusive to everyone around him. He had loved her for as long as he could remember, but even she never knew him best. 

That was Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon had not realized until he was cradling his Padawan’s wounded body in the Theed generator station. Obi-Wan knew him to the root. It was the only way Qui-Gon was able to save him. 

And the reason he had to let Obi-Wan go. One last lesson, in attachment, though it was Qui-Gon who needed to learn most. 

He felt the knock before he heard it. Hurriedly he crossed the old floorboards, his steps pounding in hollow rhythm with the rain, his heart pounding with tempered hope. Who else would come? Not the locals, with the storm and long trek to the cabin—-

Qui-Gon paused to close his eyes and gather a breath. He swallowed, swallowed again, opened the door. 

Obi-Wan stood beneath the meager little porch, arms crossed over his chest. He was hunched forward, and water fell from the edges of his hood, grey eyes meeting Qui-Gon’s through the drizzle. His uniform, also soaked, clung to him. His face looked bright in the frame of the dark cowl; Qui-Gon realized he was pale, and shivering, and his eyes were shot through with thin, red veins. 

And then Qui-Gon was not a distant friend from another life. He was Obi-Wan’s Master, reaching across the threshold to rest his hand on a cold, wet cheek. “I’ll be right back,” he murmured. 

Obi-Wan’s eyes fell as he nodded, clutched up against himself, still trembling.

Qui-Gon had forgotten to retrieve his laundry from the grass before the rain hit, but he grabbed a blanket from his bedroll and returned to the porch. He threw the blanket over his own shoulder while he helped Obi-Wan peel off the sodden layers. The robe and tunics dropped with a heavy slap. There was no use bringing them inside. He hesitated at the undershorts, but they were grown men, Jedi. Nothing Qui-Gon had not seen before. Modesty was less crucial than health, so he drew them down Obi-Wan’s white hips while the younger man stood, covered only by gooseflesh. 

A hard gust of wind blew through. 

“Here,” Qui-Gon said softly, squeezing the water from auburn hair. He took a corner of the blanket and dabbed Obi-Wan’s face dry, then wrapped him in the brown, rough hewn fabric. The blanket looked a bit like a makeshift Knight’s robe, and he ventured a small smile, unreturned. He stayed silent as he led Obi-Wan into the dry warmth of the cabin. 

Obi-Wan hesitated, blinking. “My...pack…” he worried, and pointed vaguely toward the door. He seemed smaller, shoulders softened by the blanket and slumped by exhaustion. 

Qui-Gon was again struck by the sun-boldened image of the seasoned Knight from that morning. _Only a day back in my company, and look what I’ve done to him_. He acknowledged the sudden pain in his chest, knew he did not deserve less. “It will dry out.” He squeezed Obi-Wan’s arm. “But you first..” 

Obi-Wan walked with him to the bedroll and Qui-Gon looked down at the row of bare toes. He had forgotten that Obi-Wan’s toes were so...orderly. When Obi-Wan was a Padawan, and they had become comfortable enough to joke with each other, he would laugh at Qui-Gon’s feet, with their long and uneven toes. Qui-Gon used to lament his body’s tendency to bumps and irregularities—crooked nose, prominent forehead, bony knots for knuckles. How easy it was to compare himself to Obi-Wan, who seemed naturally smooth, always—-

Beautiful. 

He had even been beautiful in the Theed hospital, face consumed by tubes and strips of medical tape. Qui-Gon had not wanted to leave him, not for a second, until all the feeling churning inside could not fit in the sterile room, and he sat in the courtyard, overwhelmed, the lorngales watching from the trees. 

It would have been better not to know. He thought it then, and he thought it now, now that Obi-Wan was standing beside him. 

_I am a selfish man_ , Qui-Gon thought, bending to tidy the bedroll. He pulled Obi-Wan down to lay on the single pillow, and took both the chapped, freezing hands in the cradle of his palms and fingers. He noticed Obi-Wan was resting stiffly. His shoulders were not actually touching the bedroll. 

_He is not comfortable with me anymore. Why would he be?_

_But he came back._

Qui-Gon took that thread of hope, used it to hold his more optimistic thoughts together. He brushed the damp hair off Obi-Wan’s forehead. “I think tonight, perhaps, you should sleep.”

In the meager cabin light, Obi-Wan’s eyes were clouded, red-rimmed. Slowly, he nodded, removed his hands from Qui-Gon’s, and turned towards the wall. 

Qui-Gon remained crouched there for several minutes, listening to the rain, and Obi-Wan’s breathing.


End file.
